


The Final Moments in the Life of Angus McFife XIII

by TheDarkMetalLady



Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Major character death - Freeform, Sad, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 22:50:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkMetalLady/pseuds/TheDarkMetalLady
Summary: An estimated account of events following the Battle of Cowdenbeath (992) by TheDarkMetalLady, apprentice bard and scribe in service to the King of Fife. For the eternal glory of Dundee!
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	The Final Moments in the Life of Angus McFife XIII

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first story I ever actually wrote for the Gloryhammer fandom, written back in July 2019 while listening to the Fires of Ancient Cosmic Destiny on repeat, both normal and symphonic versions. 
> 
> I do not own the Gloryhammer characters. Please note that this story is about the _characters represented by the band_ and **not** about the band members themselves.

The valiant hero Angus McFife XIII stood near the edge of the cliff, below which raged the volcanic fires of Schiehallion. Heated black ash rose from the liquid inferno below and filled the air, making every breath vaguely painful. It was difficult to see more than a few meters away, and what was visible was tinted red from the volcanic fires. The heat was immense, turning any exposed skin red and quickly warming any armor and weapons. Even the Hammer of Glory wasn’t immune, its handle hot and almost painful to the touch.

But, none of that mattered, did it?

Despite the hostility of his surroundings, it was strangely peaceful. The only audible sounds were the bubbling of the lava below and his own heavy breaths, each one a struggle to get enough breath and yet nothing compared to the struggle that had just taken place. Before him on the ground laid a still-gurgling but settling puddle of liquid dust – the last remnants of the evil sorcerer Zargothrax, ex-ruler of this dimension.

It was finally over. The wizard had been defeated, and the Kingdom of Fife had been saved! The legendary Angus McFife had triumphed this day!

However, what should have been a moment of celebration despite exhaustion was cut short. As the Crown Prince of Fife straightened his posture and prepared to raise his hammer in a gesture of victory, a sudden pain pierced through his abdomen, and his posture immediately faltered, folding in on itself. He fell forward towards the edge of the cliff, almost falling to one knee and catching himself by leaning his weight against his legendary hammer as if it were a cane. The sudden shock of pain caused him to inhale plenty of ash and embers, forcing him to cough heavily several times as his lungs worked to expel the filth, each breath burning against his throat as the violent movements only sharpened the pain in his abdomen.

Once the coughs subsided, Angus took a few moments’ rest to catch his breath (as much as was possible, at least) before looking down, only to find the handle of a knife sticking out from his torso, the entirety of the blade still embedded in his flesh. At that moment, Angus realized that in the final struggle against the dark sorcerer, he had been impaled by the Knife of Evil. He knew that it was only a matter of time before he himself would be corrupted by the dark power of the cursed blade.

In the end, perhaps Zargothrax had the last laugh after all.

Angus raised his gaze and looked around, still supporting his weight against his hammer despite how its handle was akin to a flame against the flesh of his hands, but the ash-filled skies offered no comfort or reconciliation. He couldn’t see anything — not the attacking Deathknights of Crail, which he hoped were no longer a threat; not the D.S.S. Hootsforce in the plains above Cowdenbeath, assuming the ship hadn’t fallen (he hoped it hadn’t, he hoped that he hadn’t led more people to their deaths in vain, he hoped he hadn’t lost another friend once more); not even the Hootsman, who had been there only moments before, was in sight. He was well and truly alone. Was he even in the same dimension anymore, or had he been sucked into another ancient cosmic wormhole?

His musings were cut short when the heat of the handle of the Hammer of Glory became too intense to continue holding any longer, and his grip slackened. The Hammer fell from his hold and clattered to the ground, part of it hanging precariously off the ledge and over the raging volcanic fires of Schiehallion. Now lacking the support provided by his ancestral weapon, Angus McFife fell to his knees, one arm wrapped around his abdomen and the other against the ground supporting him, preventing him from falling forward face-first against heated, jagged, ash-covered stone. The sharp edges of rock cut into his hand, and he lowered his head, eyes closed as he tried to control his breathing to avoid another painful coughing fit. To make matters worse, the pain in his abdomen was spreading, and he felt something else spreading along with it.

Then, in a sudden moment of lucidity, Angus realized there was only one way for him to ensure that Zargothrax’s final plan failed. With a gargantuan effort, he raised his head, eyes opening to focus upon the ledge before him. He resolved to make the final sacrifice for the Glory of Dundee and end his own life by descending into the raging volcanic fires of Schiehallion.

He shut his eyes in pain and took a deep breath as he unwrapped his arm from around his torso, placing it against the heated, sharp rock that made up the cliff overlooking the volcanic depths. Several drops of blood fell from his wound, the drips inaudible over the bubbling of the fiery depths only a few meters away. His armor was oversaturated with blood where he’d been stabbed, and so his hand had been covered in it as well, causing his palm to slide against the sharp rocks when he placed it down, the stone akin to dozens of blades slicing into his skin.

The valiant hero ignored the pain best as he could; it mattered little against the grand goal. It always had. He gritted his teeth and pushed on, slowly crawling towards the edge. With every movement closer, the heat grew more intense, as did his pain. The rocks shredded his knee guards, and soon his legs were scratched up as well. His hands were a raw, bloody mess. Every small move caused increasing amounts of pain. The air was thicker with ash now, and every breath smelled of sulfur and scratched against his airways.

Only half a meter from the ledge, a sudden cough wracked his entire body. It was pure pain, and after a few coughs, he spat out a mouthful of blood onto the ground below him. The veins in his hands were already blackened by corruption, and he had little doubt that there was a similar blackening in the veins in his neck.

The thought of what would happen if the corruption truly took hold was what motivated him. Despite every centimeter taking longer and longer, each movement becoming more and more painful, each breath needing more and more effort, he soon reached the edge. The glow of the raging inferno below was blinding, but Angus did not need to be able to see to know his destiny. It was his time to die — to say farewell, to descend into hell.

With effort he did not know he possessed, he forced himself to his feet. Though the world spun around him and the ground shook and every muscle resisted movement and his back refused to straighten right, he did his best to salute his Kingdom and his friends one final time, only able to hope that the battle had not been fought in vain.

He stepped forward.

**Author's Note:**

> ** _To defeat the power of the sorcerer,  
The Prince of Fife must die!_ **
> 
> _Down below, the volcano rumbled, as if in acknowledgement of what had transpired. The Hammer of Glory, which had been precariously hanging over the glowing infernal flames, slid closer towards the ledge and hung there for a second before too teetering over the edge and into the volcanic depths._


End file.
